


Shadows - Part I

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [19]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I do not wish to lose an ally, even a dead one.”<br/>“An ally?  What makes you think I am that?”<br/>“Because you hate Sidious as much as I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Betabetabeta: writestufflee, merryamelie, C, and lauranna

Republic Date 5201: 2/22nd

Entrios, Outer Jalor Sector

 

Their pilot landed them a short distance from the only tree that altered the snow-swept landscape.  There was a small transport already parked near it, one that the snow was trying to claim.

Mace Windu walked down the boarding ramp, Boda MonMassa just behind him.  Healers Zarin Har and Ra’um-Ve brought up the rear, with Har immediately swearing aloud as the heated confines of the ship gave way to the planet’s deep cold.

“How very hospitable,” Ra’um-Ve grumbled.  Mace turned to see the Healer pull her fleece-lined cloak up over her head. 

“I did warn you,” Mace said, flexing his hands in his gloves, grateful for efficient cold-weather gear.

“It’s not meant to be hospitable, it’s meant to be a retreat.  Or a learning center,” MonMassa said, seemingly ignoring the cold.  “Let’s go.”

There were two figures waiting at the foot of the tree.  Kenobi was turned away from them, wearing nothing heavier than a standard robe to keep the chill at bay.  Vos was huddled inside of his own cloak, the visible ends of his braids tipped in frost. 

“You guys are late.  We’ve been here several hours already,” Vos greeted them.

“Some things took longer to arrange than others,” MonMassa replied.  “Knight Kenobi, I would see you, please.”

Venge turned and regarded them in silence.  With his cloak pulled up to shade his face, the glow of his eyes was even more pronounced, casting amber light over his features.  Mace felt his insides clench as instincts and years of training responded to the sight.  He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for his lightsaber.

“How are you, Knight?” MonMassa asked, speaking with glacial formality.

“Surviving,” was the succinct, soft-voiced reply.

“Bullshit,” Ra’um-Ve said, striding forward and standing, hands on her hips, directly in front of him.  “Show me,” she demanded.

Venge lowered his head in acknowledgement, and then met Ra’um-Ve’s eyes.  They stared at each other for a minute, neither of them moving or speaking. 

Finally, Ra’um-Ve stepped back.  “No wonder you’re not cold.  Your limbic system is lit up like a plasma burn, with constant over-stimulation to the hypothalamus and the amygdala.”

“Damn,” said Zarin Har, his fur rippling as he took in the sight of the young Sith.  “That’s incredible.”

Venge looked politely disbelieving, an expression that Mace found himself echoing.

“Well, for given values of incredible,” Har admitted.  “I imagine it’s exhausting, too.  And then there’s the eyes bit—what causes the glow?  You’re full-human, so that shouldn’t be a—”

“Zarin,” MonMassa snapped, just as Venge said, “Energy burn.”

“What?” the Bothan Healer blurted.

“Energy burn,” Venge repeated.  “It is a reflection of what happens when you are consistently generating caustic energy.”

“Oh,” Har said, with less enthusiasm.  “That sounds…debilitating.”

“Yes, it is,” Ra’um-Ve agreed.  “I remember you being far more disagreeable in regards to my tender mercies, Kenobi.  I take it that will not be the case this time?”

“I want to _survive_ this, Healer,” Venge said, and then Mace felt it—an uncurling of intense rage, causing everyone except Vos to flinch.  It burned in Mace’s mind’s eye like a solar flare before vanishing, banked by thick shields.

“My apologies,” Venge said, noticing the pained grimace on Ra’um-Ve’s face.  “I am doing the best I can, but shielding for long periods is…difficult.”

Some of MonMassa’s cautious reserve thinned in response to his words.  “Let me show you my facility, Obi-Wan.”

They walked right up to the cliff face.  MonMassa reached behind a rock that jutted out just a touch farther than its neighbors, triggering a release.  With a groan of old machinery, a section of the cliff wall at least five meters wide began to rise.

“Welcome to the Cathedral,” MonMassa said, leading them inside.

Vos whistled, taking in the massive space over their heads.  “That must go up to the top of the cliff.”

“It does.”  MonMassa smiled.  “Forgive us its dramatic name.  We claimed the facility from a religious cult that was guilty of some rather heinous practices, and every attempt to rename it has failed.”

Mace glanced around.  The initial space was impressive, with a dark, smooth floor, high walls, and nothing to furnish it except a few old supply crates shoved into one corner.  It was easily large enough to serve as a battle arena for the Temple on Coruscant.

“Three passages from here,” MonMassa said, pointing.  “The one on the far left leads to the first section of living quarters, dubbed the Left Strip.  There are more than enough rooms to satisfy the needs of the group.  The passage to the far right contains the second set of quarters, originally hosting the higher-ups among the cultists.  If you wish for some denotation of rank, those rooms will certainly supply it.  We do not call them the Posh Line for nothing.”

MonMassa led them down the central corridor herself, identifying each room.  “This is the kitchen; we have a full droid staff in the facility, so food preparation will not be a concern.  The commissary is here—”

“Fuck, I do _not_ want to eat in here,” Vos said, looking appalled.

Mace wasn’t sure what Vos meant until he followed the others into the space.  The commissary was the color of fresh blood from floor to ceiling.  The chairs and tables were darker shades of red that reminded him uncomfortably of internal organs.

“What sort of cult did you say this was again?” Har asked, his ears laid flat with distaste.

“Blood worshippers,” MonMassa said.  “And yes, that included cannibalism.”

“Obi-Wan?”  Ra’um-Ve called, her brow furrowed in concern.  “Are you all right?”

Venge was staring at the room, his eyes wide.  “I can see them.”

Har looked baffled.  “See what, exactly?”

“I can see the things that they did here.  Vos, touch nothing in this place,” Venge said in a hard voice.  “Not unless you wish for nightmares.”

“Noted.”  Vos wrapped his arms around himself.  “How bad is it?”

Venge stepped forward, looking around the room at things only he could see.  “All it would take is a little nudge, and this place would be like the cave on Dagobah.”

“Cave?” MonMassa asked. 

“Like the Chamber of Trial,” Mace explained, frowning as Venge ran his fingers along a tabletop.  “Just on a smaller scale.  What sort of nudge?”

“Just a slight alteration in the weave,” Venge said.  “The fuel is already here; this room is steeped in Darkness.”

“You’re telling me that you can create a Chamber of Trial,” MonMassa said in abject disbelief.

Venge turned and looked at them.  “You mean that you cannot?”

“Of course not,” Mace confirmed, noticing a faint flicker of disquiet on Venge’s face.  “Otherwise the Corellian Temple would have a Chamber of Trial, as well.”

“Interesting,” Venge said.  “I had not realized that.”

“How do you know how to do it, then?” Vos asked.  “Is it a Sith thing?”

Venge seemed puzzled.  “I…do not know.  It is not Sith lore.”  He looked up, his eyes tracking the patterned ridges of the ceiling.  “I know how to do it, but I could not tell you why.  I remember more things, different things, than he does.  Perhaps it is old damage from the block.”

“I doubt that,” Ra’um-Ve said.  “Believe me, I would have noticed.”

 “Hm,” was Venge’s only comment, before he blatantly shelved the topic.  “Master MonMassa, is there another room that can serve as a commissary?  Even aside from my plans for this space, it is…this is not a place that a Shadow should spend a great deal of time.”

“A miniature Chamber of Trial?” MonMassa raised an eyebrow.

“You did say that you wanted me to terrify them,” Venge said. 

“That I did.”  She turned and walked to the door.  “Follow me.”

A replacement commissary was found at the end of the long corridor, after passing rooms that were devoted to exercise, recreation, medical, and in one baffling instance, a nursery that was still decorated in cartoonish imagery of teeth and gore.  There was also a lecture hall, large enough to host the entire Shadow group.  It was quite a ways from the kitchen, but MonMassa seemed certain that the droids wouldn’t care.

Venge looked at Vos before approving of the new commissary.  “Do you sense anything?”

Vos rested his hand on the wall, made a face, and then bent down to touch his fingertips to the floor.  “Looks like nude drum circles,” he said.  “I didn’t realize people actually did that.  It’s nothing I really needed to see, but it’s only nightmare fodder if you’re disturbed by swaying genitals.”

“A commissary it is, then,” MonMassa said.  “There may be other tables in storage, as I suspect the ones in the original commissary are just as tainted as the room itself.  In the meantime, here are further details that you need.

“Tomorrow, you will be joined by Ra’um-Ve’s brother, Su’um-Va, as a second, mandatory Mind Healer placement.  Not only will the Shadows be able to make use of their services, but so will you, Knight Kenobi.  With him will be Healer Abella, working as a second to Healer Zarin Har.  She will still be your personal Healer, and you’ll attend to her just as often as the Vastra twins.  You won’t do my Shadows any good at all if you are breaking down, physically or mentally.”

Venge inclined his head.  “Acceptable.”

“Starting in two days, the chosen Shadows will begin to arrive.  All of them should be on Entrios before the week has ended,” MonMassa said.  “From that point onward, a transport will land here every morning at sixth hour for a half-hour’s time.  Any Shadow who washes out of this training is to report immediately back to the Temple for reevaluation and reassignment.”

“And now, the part that you’ll all find less than thrilling,” Mace spoke up.  “This entire facility is under visual observation.  Not only are the public rooms under surveillance, but so are the private rooms, ’freshers included.”

“Well, so much for a good wank in the evenings,” Vos said cheerfully. 

“Would that actually stop you?” Ra’um-Ve asked.

Vos pretended to consider it.  “No.”

“This is one mandate from the High Council that MonMassa and myself both agree with.”  Mace crossed his arms and looked at each face in turn.  “This is for your safety, as well as for future reference if we…have need of doing something like this again.”

“Dear gods, I hope not,” Har said. 

“All right.  Vos, get out.”  MonMassa pointed at the new commissary’s doorway.  “What is next discussed is for your instructors alone.”

Vos saluted.  “No hints other than the ones I’ve already collected.  Gotcha.  I’ll go pick out a room from the Left Strip.”

When he had gone, MonMassa said, “Master Tiin managed to recreate Shillanis.”

Venge lifted his head, approving.  “That took less time than I thought it might.”

“Healer Abella will arrive with a very large sample, the better to incorporate Shillanis into their training.  _Not_ as something to burn through,” MonMassa cautioned, “though I imagine if we’re putting up with you, I would be a hypocrite if I forbade you from teaching them how.”

“Noted,” Venge said.  “I will save those lessons for the core group, with all due warnings and reminders of the Order’s tolerance limits.”

“One other thing the other Shadows do not yet need to know about...”  MonMassa sighed.  “Master Windu, are you certain?”

“We’ve already gone through the trouble of making it a training tool,” Mace replied, and held out the small pack that he had been carrying around.  “Keep them safe, secure, and secret, until you have created your core group.”

Venge’s eyes widened in recognition the moment his hands touched the pack.  “Ah.  Yes.  I will do so.”

“And now, on to politics.”  MonMassa straightened.  “The Reconciliation Council supports this venture, and you, for now,” she told Venge.  “Abuse my trust, and I will kill you with my bare hands.”

“Also noted,” Venge said, and then looked at Mace.  “Her wording leads me to believe the same cannot be said of the High Council.”

Mace restrained a frustrated sigh; it would not help, no matter how disappointed he was by the situation.  “The Council is currently divided in how to handle your current…predicament.  Officially, you are on special assignment, and your named stand-by is acting in your stead.  Unofficially, certain Councilors have already attempted a majority vote to override the Reconciliation Council in order to call for your execution.”

Zarin Har frowned.  “That seems like an overly dramatic response.  We have been sharing space with Knight Kenobi for an hour, and he has yet to try to rend us to bits.”

Venge regarded Mace steadily.  “It was Master Billaba.”

Mace bit back a curse.  “Yes.”

 _“Depa_ wants you dead?” Ra’um-Ve looked disbelieving.  “What did you do, piss in her flowerpot?”

“Charming,” MonMassa uttered, narrow-eyed.

“Master Billaba killed Lofla Jil-Hyra, in accordance with the Code, defending me and others when Sidious coerced her into bombing the crèche,” Venge said, his face expressionless.  “Master Billaba thus expects that my fate should be the same as Jil-Hyra’s, especially as my sins would be considered worse than hers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ra’um-Ve protested, outraged.  “The circumstances are completely different!”

“It’s also about the Code,” Mace told her.  “It is very specific about those of us who Fall.  Master Jinn broke with the Code when he did not immediately kill Xanatos, and we are breaking it now by not trying to execute Obi-Wan where he stands.”

“Nonsense,” Ra’um-Ve spat.  “This is why there is such a separation among the Temples.  The Corellian Temple doesn’t hold with that dreck unless there’s a damned good reason for it.”

“Rava.”  Mace gave his former lover a chiding look.  “If I agreed with Depa, I would not be standing here.”

Ra’um-Ve scowled.  “Why weren’t you this smart when we were dating?”

“I’m guessing the Council could not gain a majority?” Har asked.

“No, the vote failed, but I would be disinclined to carry out the order, even if they had succeeded,” Mace said.  “Shaak Ti’s temporary place on the Council is keeping the peace, for the moment.”

“Instead, there are whispers that Master Windu’s position as Head of the Order may be challenged,” MonMassa said, her annoyance clear.  “There are concerns that his leadership is faulty.”

“Damned fools,” Venge hissed.  “They see our dwindling numbers, the evidence of Sidious and the Sith’s vow to destroy them, and still it is not enough.  They blind themselves to the voice of the Force and think it will lead to peace!”

“Nice to see you still think so.”  Mace did appreciate hearing that Venge’s thoughts on the matter were a close match to Obi-Wan’s.  “Though your support will mean little if our naysayers gain a majority.”

“Dammit, Master Windu, we _need_ you,” Venge said, his eyes flashing.  “When confronted with something you do not like, you still make the best decision for the Order as a whole.  Who else among us has that courage?”

“You do,” Mace said.

Venge reared back, offended.  “Do not threaten me with your job.”

Mace smiled.  “Of course not.  In the meantime, make this venture a success.  When the Fire in your body has burned itself out, we will welcome you back on the Council.”

Venge tilted his head.  “Do you think those who oppose my existence now will welcome him—welcome _me_ back when this is over?”

“I do,” Mace said.  “Show them that we can place our faith in you, and I know that hearts and minds will change.”  He held out his arm.  “Mine have.”

Venge looked down, slowly gripped Mace’s arm with caution writ in every line of his body.  “I just realized,” he murmured.  “Your counterpart must have felt the same.”

Mace nodded.  “Perhaps so.”

“Come,” Venge said.  “I need to show this to you,” he said, and led them all back to the original blood-red commissary.  It was the first time Obi-Wan had looked or sounded enthused about anything in the Cathedral, and Mace was determined to take it as a positive sign.

They stood in a loose circle in the center of the room, and Venge lifted his hand.  “Watch this,” he said, “as closely as you can.  I am not sure I could ever explain what I am about to do with words.”

MonMassa closed her eyes, as did Ra’um-Ve and Zarin Har.  Mace did not, but his senses were outstretched, paying strict attention to the flow of energy in the room. 

He felt it when the first change was made, a ripple that shifted the atmosphere.  Suddenly, the Darkness that Venge had claimed to sense was almost tangible; Mace felt that he could breathe it in, if he wished.  Another change, and their breaths became crystalline as the temperature dropped.

“Oh, my,” Har whispered.

“Shield yourself, Ra’um-Ve,” Venge instructed tersely, just before there was a jarring _shift_.  A lava-bright burst of intensity came from Venge—Mace could not call it rage.  There was something incandescent about it, far beyond the typical description of anger or fury.

To Mace’s internal sight, the room was now filled with crisscrossing threads.  Normally, it was a golden or ethereal blue construct, one that Mace would only see when a shatterpoint was before him, but this weave was blackened and warped.  Bits of it dripped and pulsed; there was no smooth flow. 

“Damn,” Mace breathed, appalled.  “What the hell did they do in here?”

“Don’t look for that,” Venge snapped.  “If this is not balanced correctly, it will not be a room to challenge the mind, but one that will ensnare and break.  Now be quiet and let me finish.”

Mace complied, sensing the dire truth in the words.  Instead, he watched as threads were rewoven.  He did not understand the rhyme or reason behind the changes, but as Venge worked, the weave stopped undulating, regaining some of its natural flow.  The threads did not fully heal, but beneath the blackness was a shining hint of the blue that Mace was used to seeing. 

The threads vanished to Mace’s sight when Venge dropped his hand, but the temperature of the room did not recover.  A new sense of foreboding disquiet surrounded them, and the shadows seemed much deeper than before.

“What—” Zarin Har caught Venge when the man started to falter in place.  “Whoa, there,” he said, and then his eyes widened in alarm as he touched Venge’s bare skin.  “You’re freezing!”

Venge recovered himself, politely disengaging from the Healer.  “Not for long,” he said.

Ra’um-Ve sighed.  “Oh, bloody—I’m an idiot.  You can’t actually rest, can you?  Not with Fire’s constant stimulation.”

“Oh, dear,” Har murmured.  “Sedatives, perhaps?”

Venge shook his head once, though it was unclear which Healer he was responding to.  “We should leave, right now.  Do not trust your eyes in this place.”  When nobody moved, Venge snorted in derisive amusement and headed for the door.

“Yes, he said that, and now the walls are moving,” Har said, and followed Venge with speedy aplomb. 

Mace made the mistake of looking around.  His eyes were caught by a line of figures, nothing more than shadows, with eyes that glowed amber and red.

 _“No_ , Mace.” MonMassa took a firm hold on his arm.  “Neither of us needs this place right now.” 

Mace followed her, halting at first, but then hurrying his steps as the new chamber lost influence on his mind.  “Fuck,” he said, when they passed through the doorway.  It was like stepping out of the Chamber of Trial all over again, and once was quite enough.

Venge was standing with his arms crossed, his head bowed.  Mace didn’t have to ask if he had recovered.  It was like seeing a heat mirage, so palpable was the fury that the other man was broadcasting.

Mace gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists.  No lightsaber.  Not needed.  He promised himself that _it was not needed_.

“That would be A Drop of Fire, I take it,” Zarin Har said, rubbing at his head with a pained grimace.

“I need to be alone for a time,” Venge whispered without looking up. 

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan,” MonMassa said.  Mace glanced at her; she had her hands clasped together, well away from the lightsaber she kept in a sheath on her back.  It was nice to know he was not the only one having serious difficulties.

“Go.  Do whatever you have to do to pull yourself back together.”  Ra'um-Ve was looking extraordinarily pale, considering her dark violet skin.  “Mace and Boda aren’t leaving until tomorrow, so there will be time to make any last-minute arrangements.”

Venge strode off down the corridor without another word, and Mace let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.  When Venge met Vos at the first junction, they could all see Venge’s head turn, something akin to a snarl on his features.  Vos leaned back, hands up, palms out, and then watched as the Sith stalked off out of sight.

“Shit,” Vos said, catching up with them.  “He’s in a hell of a mood.  What did I miss?”

Mace looked at MonMassa, who lifted her shoulders in a shrug.  “I haven’t the faintest idea how to quantify what I just saw,” she said.

“Neither do I,” he admitted.

“Could you do what Obi-Wan did in there?” Ra’um-Ve asked, her skin beginning to resume its normal color.

Mace thought about it.  “I…perhaps I could learn the pattern, once I take the time to meditate on what I witnessed,” he said.  “But it’s the potential of it that I did not understand.  I didn’t feel what Obi-Wan sensed, and without the awareness of that possibility…”

MonMassa shook her head.  “My dear friend,” she said in a soft voice.  “I am beginning to fear that the Order has a very long way to go before we find that understanding again.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Normally, he didn’t give one blasted fuck about differentiating rank.  Beyond the strictures of the Code, they were all Jedi, and that was what was important.

He wasn’t fool enough to believe it would be unnecessary here—in fact, he believed it would wind up being of utmost importance, until the core group had proven themselves to be beyond such thoughts as rank and the black-white of Jedi versus Sith.

That didn’t mean Venge wanted every single one of them to be able to hound him at all hours of the day.  He studied the line of the corridor, taking note of connecting seams.  There was only one set of quarters in the Posh Line beyond this point, and he valued his privacy.  He _had_ to value it, had to have time to be in quiet stillness, or Fire was going to push him into killing everyone and having done with it.

It didn’t take long to build the Force illusion, and it was an effective one.  It now appeared as if the corridor ended at this last connecting junction, a smooth face of finished metal that hid the last section of corridor beyond it.  There was enough power in the illusion to convince a cursory touch that the wall was solid, though it wouldn’t stand up to fierce curiosity. 

There were shields for that.  It occurred to him, too late, that he should have brought a load of those damned stones from RF-228.  He could hide in the Force, yes, but he wanted to avoid notice, to be able to breathe out the rage and not have every Jedi on the planet come rushing to kill him. 

Without rocks, not wanting to twist the flow of the Force (too noticeable, for those that could learn to look) Venge instead built durable mental shielding into the very walls of the corridor and of the quarters he’d chosen.  He had never done _anything_ like that before.  In fact, until that moment, he wasn’t certain that it could be done. 

When it was completed, he was standing in a room that was sealed, still and hushed.  He had only his own thoughts for company, which was as it should be.

“I will tell the Healers how to get here, if it is necessary for them to do so,” Venge said aloud, and was momentarily baffled by the exhausted rasp of his own voice.  Perhaps a sedative-based sleep would not be amiss, but…

 _Nightmares.  I will have them._   It wasn’t a pleasant realization.  He had suffered only a few scattered flashbacks before, and that was when there was still that element of…of separation.  Now there was nothing:  no buffer, no mental compartmentalization, no close presence of his Lifemate and students. 

The walls of his chosen quarters were slate gray, shot through with blues and greens just like the stone itself would be. Venge considered it a blessing after the unrelenting _red_ of the now-defunct commissary. 

There were two rooms, aside from the extravagant ’fresher.  A receiving room fronted the bedroom, which had a permanent, wall-mounted bed that even his mate would have found acceptable.  There was an empty closet in the bedroom, as well as a near-empty chest of drawers that the meager contents of his travel pack could not even hope to fill. 

Kimal Daarc’s lightsaber rested on the table in the receiving room.  Venge was trying to keep the blade away from his body as often as feasible, not wanting Kimal’s crystals to soak in the darkness that cloaked him.  Next to it, he unpacked the set of holocrons Master Windu had given him, placing the fake next to the true one.  There would come a time soon when the twin holocrons would be a test for the Shadows.  Until then, they would remain with him, else someone with itchy fingers make off with one or both.

Mace didn’t realize it, but he might have given Venge the means to discover answers to his current predicament.  Aware that the room was monitored, he brushed his fingers across the sigils, his touch delicate.  “Ashunte he’re vata vas druk,” he said in Kittât, the third of the Sith languages.  He remembered learning it now, whereas before, only memories of the first language had surfaced.

Darth Zannah’s form projected itself above her holocron.  “Ghrra-huuk, dreb nadiae ku shuun,” she replied.  _I tried to warn you, dear one._   To the ancient Sith’s credit, she was only gloating a little bit.

Venge dipped his head.  “That you did,” he continued in the same tongue.  “Thank you, even if I did not grasp the full meaning of all of your words.”

There was a flicker of surprise in the holo’s gaze.  Gratitude was probably not what Zannah had expected.  “Your eyes tell me that Sidious must have been successful in his plotting.  How did he convince you to abandon the Jedi path?”

“He did not,” Venge grated out.  “This was not by choice.”

“Ah.”  Zannah gave him a look of cool curiosity.  “Sidious did not even tell _us_ the whole of his plans.”

“How unfortunately wise of him,” Venge murmured.  He was having a hard time keeping his intonations correct for Kittât, so he switched back to common Sith.  “Would you answer a question of mine?”

She stared hard at him.  “For a Sith who has seen beyond the veil of our world?  Yes.  Yes, I would.”

Sidious had told her of the other-when that they had both come from.  That was unexpected. 

Venge put that knowledge aside, for now; he had enough difficulties to contend with.  “Such knowledge was not in Sidious’s library, but perhaps you might know.  How long does a single dose of A Drop of Fire last?”

Zannah’s mouth firmed.  “Ah.  That is how.”

“Do you know?”

“Yes, I do.”  Zannah narrowed her eyes.  “Grech’tak,” she said in the High Sith tongue, the priest-language.

It took him a moment to recall the meaning of the word, and when he did, Venge’s eyes widened.  Then he was swearing aloud, running through every invective in every language he recalled.  That was far longer a time than he had bargained for.

When that particular well had run dry, Venge drew in a deep breath.  “Is there a way to burn through it faster?”

“Now that, I do not know,” Zannah admitted, looking thoughtful.  “My Master did not know, either—but for us, the question was academic.”

Venge glared up at the far wall, careful not to let too much of his intense focus linger in one place.  He’d accidentally set something on fire once already.  “It is no longer academic.”

“I…might be able to find out,” Zannah said.

Venge glanced down in surprise.  “What?”

She scowled at him.  “Do not pretend to such ignorance.  My tomb on Korriban is surrounded by hundreds of others.  There is a chance that one of my brethren might know of a way to shorten Fire’s hold.”

Stupid, bitter hope flared.  “But you are not certain.”

“Of course not,” Zannah retorted.  “The centuries have driven most of them insane.  I stopped talking to them long ago, fearful that their madness might be catching.”

That did not sound auspicious.  “You do not need to risk your sanity for me.”

Zannah sniffed.  “Of course I don’t _need_ to.  Why such concern for me, anyway?  Surely a Jedi has better things to worry about.”

Venge frowned at her.  “I do not wish to lose an ally, even a dead one.”

“An ally?”  She looked amused.  “What makes you think I am that?”

“Because you hate Sidious as much as I do,” he said.

Zannah’s eyes widened just before fury painted her features.  The holocron powered down, leaving him alone in the room.

That…was not the reaction he had been trying to provoke.  “Shit,” he said in Basic.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“This place is _not_ well-stocked,” Abella complained, rummaging around inside the cabinet.  So far, she was not pleased with the state of the Cathedral’s medical suite.

“Well, this evening’s incoming transport is supposed to remedy that,” Zarin Har told her.  He was sitting on a medical bed behind her, swinging his legs as if he were a cub, not a Bothan Healer halfway to his Mastery.  “I went through most of it yesterday, taking note of what needed to be replaced.  Feel free to re-inventory, though.  Force knows I’m so used to dealing with Selonians right now that I might forget the human-tolerant antibiotics.”

“I’ll have to,” Abella said in a wry voice.  “My patient is allergic to half of the meds available for humanoids.”

“Yes, I saw that.  I’ve never encountered a phenol allergy before.  That must be interesting,” Zarin said.

Abella snorted.  “I’m in the middle of negotiating a lawsuit against a pharmaceutical company because of that allergy.  Someone with more money than sense decided that their drug didn’t need a phenol warning.”

“I heard about the lawsuit, but not the cause.”  The bedframe was squeaking; still leg-swinging, then.  Abella couldn’t decide if the fact of it was irritating, or sort of cute.

 _No, no you don’t,_ she told herself sternly.  _No matter how nice he smells._

She stepped back, closed the cabinet, and then jumped, emitting a high-pitched squeak, because Obi-Wan was suddenly standing at her elbow.   _“H’reeska!”_ she shouted in Chitanook.  “Don’t do that!”

Venge stared back at her, yellow eyes unblinking.  “You said you wanted to see me.”

“See you, yes.  Have the wits scared out of me, _no_ ,” Abella retorted, nervously dusting off the front of her robe.  She’d been prepared, and still his appearance was a shock.  Her heartbeat was refusing to settle, even when she told her body sternly that this was her friend, and he wasn’t going to harm her.  She knew that like she knew the fur on the backs of her hands.  He’d just startled her badly, that was all.  His heavy shielding made him all but a ghost.

To her complete annoyance, Zarin Har was completely unfazed.  Her irritation overwhelmed irrational fear in short order.

“You: move,” Abella snapped at Zarin.  “You: sit,” she ordered Venge.

Zarin bounced up off the medical bed and gestured.  “There you are, my shiny-eyed friend.”

Venge was regarding the Bothan Healer with a strange look on his face.  “You are not the least bit afraid of me, are you?”

“Are you going to eat me?” Har asked.  “Or anyone else?”

Venge’s brows drew together.  “No.”

Zarin’s fur rippled; Abella thought she remembered it being amusement that created that particular response.  “Well, then.  Nothing to worry about, is there?”

Venge settled down onto the bed, most of his attention still on Zarin.  “Why are you not joining the other Shadows in this venture?”

“I am a Healer, first and foremost.  I imagine chasing after Sidious will involve far less healing and a lot more running and fighting,” Zarin said.  “I am skilled in the first; far less so in the latter two.”

 _At last, someone sensible_ , Abella thought, and then paused.  Was she cycling into season?  This was no time to be looking for a mate.

She focused back on her patient, who had responded to her summons without protest or delay.  In fact, he didn’t seem reluctant at all, which was simply _odd._   If Obi-Wan had enjoyed submitting to Healers, Abella’s Trials would have been a breeze.

“Are you eating?” Abella asked bluntly.

“Do ration bars count?”

Abella made a face.  “They’re an insult to the culinary arts, but they are nutritionally sufficient.  What about real food?”

“When you are infuriated, how much thought do _you_ give to food?” Venge asked pointedly.

“Good point,” Abella conceded.  “I’ll let that slide, as long as you’re eating at least six of the things a day.”

“Six?”  For a moment, there was a hint of the old reluctance, before Venge nodded.  “Six it is.”

Abella blinked at the easy capitulation.  The lack of argument was starting to make her uneasy.  “Are you staying hydrated?  Passing fluids easily?”

He nodded in response to both questions.  “Yes.  You were correct, by the way.  If you and Bant had not conspired to put me under the knife, we would not be having this conversation.”

The very thought gave Abella a sharp pain in her heart.  “Oh, Obi,” she said, laying her hands on his arm.

Venge stared down at her hands in startled surprise.  “Yes?”

“Does my touch hurt?” Abella asked, immediately on the lookout for problems.

“I—no, it does not,” Venge said in a quiet voice.

Abella had been meditating on his Sharing often since Master Gallia had come to her with the news of Obi-Wan’s poisoning at Zan Arbor’s hands.  It did not take her long to discern what the trouble was.  “You silly sod,” she said, and gave him a hug. 

Venge drew in a sharp breath.  He was a quivering mess of tension, but he did not object; after a moment, he sighed and leaned against her. 

Abella had once been outside during a spring thunderstorm on Dantooine.  The smell of ozone in the air, the faint tingle of electrical discharge—Venge reminded her strongly of both.

She stepped back, rubbing her hands together to rid herself of the static charge that wanted to cling to her fur.  “Now, then.  Unshield, and let me see the rest of what I’m dealing with.”

Venge gave her a wary look, but did so—not in layers, but _all at once_.  Abella swallowed down another curse.  No wonder Ra’um-Ve had been complaining of headaches. 

Once the afterimages faded, and her senses adjusted, Abella examined him closely with the Force, confirming everything that the Corellian Healer had already mentioned.  “Have you slept since this happened?”

He shook his head.  “No.”

“Well, I know how you like to avoid sleep—” Venge narrowed his eyes at her, “—but I won’t let you go more than fifty-two hours without resting, not if you’re as keen to stay healthy as you claimed to Ra’um-Ve.  We’ll try as light a sedative as possible, first, and only strengthen the dose if it proves ineffective.”

He gave her a short nod.  “Fine.”

“You just had to do that again, didn’t you?” Ra’um-Ve groused. 

Abella turned to find the twins entering the medical suite.  Ra’um-Ve’s arm was slung over her brother’s shoulders, though to be honest, Su’um-Va didn’t look much better.

The blinding effect from Venge guttered and went out like a snuffed candle as his shields came back up.  “She asked,” he said in curt explanation.

Ra’um-Ve released a pained huff of air.  “There are days when I hate being an empath,” she muttered. 

“I keep telling you that you need better shielding of your own,” Su’um-Va said, and earned a glare from his sister.

“I keep the shielding that I have so that I can do my job,” she retorted.

Su’um-Va ignored her.  “You wanted to see us?”

Abella shot Venge a look of complete dismay.  “You asked for more Healers.  I knew it; you’ve utterly cracked.”

Venge ignored her, much the same as Su’um-Va had ignored his sister.  “I need to know how long someone with my…with my particular symptoms could expect to remain healthy.”

“That is the trick, isn’t it?” Zarin said, looking thoughtful.  “You did mention something about his limbic system, Ra’um-Ve.  Not my area of expertise, I’m afraid.”

Ra’um-Ve crossed her arms.  “You said you were tired already?”

“Tired, but not debilitated,” Venge said.

“You almost passed out yesterday,” Zarin pointed out.

Abella snorted.  “Yes, but this is Obi-Wan’s version of debilitated we’re discussing.  He doesn’t consider himself debilitated until he has to resort to crawling along the floor.”

The Vastra twins had been conversing silently.  “A month, perhaps, before you would be in genuine distress,” Su’um-Va said in a musing tone.  “ _If_ you rest at regular intervals, and do not otherwise neglect your health.”

“A month,” Ra’um-Ve agreed.  “More or less.  If Fire’s effects are constant—” she looked at Venge, who nodded, “—then a month is about what you can expect before your health will start to seriously deteriorate.”

Abella took in the grim look on her friend’s face.  “How long are we actually looking at?”

“At least four months.”

Abella stopped breathing for a second; she was not the only one.  Silence reigned in the medical suite for almost a full minute.  “Are you sure?” she squeaked out at last.

Venge looked resigned.  “Unless we find another way of dispersing Fire?  Four months, at the _least_.”

“Fuck,” Zarin whispered.

“Double-fuck,” Ra’um-Ve agreed faintly.

“You’re a stubborn, arrogant git,” Abella said in a stronger voice, when everyone else looked far too discouraged.  “We can keep you healthy that long.  If Sidious can stay alive for years at a time, we sure as hell can manage four blasted _months._ ”

Su’um-Va shook himself, visibly throwing off his shock.  “Perhaps,” he said.  “I certainly will not just sit aside and allow you to succumb to this toxin.”

“You will have to submit to us as your Healers, _completely_ ,” Ra’um-Ve said, and raised an eyebrow when Venge gave her a disbelieving look.  “Not that way, dearheart.  We’re going to need to study you, top to bottom, inside and out.  A Drop of Fire might not be traceable by itself, but its effects fucking well _should_ be.”

“So glad I put that pair of bacta tanks on the necessary supply list,” Zarin put in.  “If everything I have been reading about bacta’s restorative qualities is fact and not just enthusiasm, a weekly immersion may help stave off the worst of any physical degradation.”

“We cannot focus on me to the exclusion of all else.”  Venge looked irritated.  “Too much rests on this venture.  I will not allow someone else’s health, mental or physical, to fall by the wayside in what could be a vain effort to save mine.”

“We know how to do our jobs, Obi-Wan,” Ra’um-Ve drawled.  “If we couldn’t multitask, we would never have gained our Mastery.”

“You know, I just feel the need to point out—perhaps all this worry is for nothing?” Zarin hedged.  “You seem…well, more stable than yesterday.”

“Large energy expenditures bring about a temporary calm,” Venge said in explanation.  “I just finished hiding the old commissary.”

 _“What_ old commissary?” Abella wanted to know.

“Exactly,” Venge murmured, and then he said, “Your willingness to help me is reassuring, as is your pledge to keep everyone else in mind.  I know what MonMassa said to you, but as far as I am concerned, you are all seconds to my leadership over the Shadows that we’ll soon be dealing with.  If I am unable to make a necessary decision, then I count on all of you to be prepared to do so.”

“Great.  I always wanted to be in charge of an entire group of crazy people,” Abella said.  That level of responsibility had not been mentioned by Master Gallia or by Master MonMassa.  “Thanks so much for that, Obi.”

“What sort of injuries should we prepare for?” Su’um-Va asked.

“Ideally?  None, at least at first,” Venge replied, which was gratifying to hear.  “This is largely about mental preparation.  The things that may be physically damaging—those will come later.”

“And that box of Shillanis I brought with me?” Abella wanted to know.

Venge smiled.  “That is still mental preparation.  Never fear; the medical suite will be the sanctuary it needs to be, and safe from my machinations.  The quarters the four of you have chosen will also be safe zones.  I need you able to react if something goes wrong, not lying uselessly on the floor.”

“Uh huh,” Abella said, and resigned herself to wearing gloves for much of the foreseeable future.

“For now, Su’um-Va and Ra’um-Ve should see the bulk of the work, but…”  Venge hesitated.

“But it’s thirty Shadows in close quarters,” Zarin finished, shaking his head.  “Healer Abella and I will not want for things to do.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Republic Date 5201: 2/25th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

“You know, it’s never been a good sign when one of us comes home to find the other in the Ward,” Qui-Gon said.

Tahl blinked at him a few times as she gained consciousness, and then groaned.  “Oh, it’s you.  Thank the gods.  If that had been Ra’suul by my bedside, I would have to contemplate rising to throttle him.”

Qui-Gon took her hand when she held it out, alarmed by the grayish-blue tint to her fingernails.  They hadn’t even landed yet when the news came from Garen that Tahl had collapsed.  “You’re not throttling anyone until your spawn is born.”

“No,” Tahl admitted with a defeated sigh.  Then she twitched as Teya jumped from Qui-Gon’s lap onto her bed.  The cat sniffed at her knee and then settled against her blanketed thigh, purring.  “You brought the cat.”

“More like he brought himself,” Qui-Gon said, scratching Teya’s ears.  The feline had met them at the landing platform just an hour ago—Force knew how he’d gotten out of the Temple.  Once Teya had realized that his favorite human was not with Qui-Gon and the Padawans, his tail had done nothing but thrash in anger until Qui-Gon had given in to the inevitable and brought the cat with him.  “I suppose, since you had been watching over him while we were gone, that Teya felt it proper to return the favor.”

“He does have a stubborn streak a klik wide.  I wonder where he gets it from?”

Qui-Gon smiled, knowing a rhetorical question when he heard one.  “And then there is…this,” he said, reaching over with his hand to point two fingers directly at Tahl’s eyes.  

Her eyes crossed as her focus shifted, and then she scowled.  “Stop doing that.  Micah thinks it’s hilarious, and he’s bad enough.”

“I’m just glad that you finally gave in to good sense and had the surgery,” Qui-Gon replied, which earned him another glare as he moved his hand away.  “I am glad.  Truly,” he said, when Tahl didn’t look convinced.

Tahl relented, smiling back at him.  “It is nice to see your face again.”

“And Micah’s too, I imagine,” Qui-Gon said.

“Yes.”  Tahl sobered.  “He told me what happened to Obi-Wan.  Are you all right?”

He nodded.  “I’m fine.”

Tahl frowned at the curt response.  “Qui-Gon—”

“How long will you be trapped here?” Qui-Gon asked, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a rampaging Bantha.

Tahl’s eyes reflected her irritation, but she allowed him the escape.  “Until the spawn is born.  They’re going to try to get me through the full ten months with mandatory, Ward-based bed rest.  If bed rest isn’t enough, they’ll induce labor or carve me open, whichever my overanxious Healer feels is warranted at the time.”

Qui-Gon squeezed her hand; two months, more or less.  “You’re going to be climbing the walls.”

Tahl sighed again.  “Don’t I know it.  You’ll bring me horrible gossip and lovely things to read, won’t you?  They fear overstressing me, but Ra’suul seems to be forgetting that _boredom_ will always be my undoing.”

Qui-Gon made to leave when Micah returned, promising Tahl that he would come back for a later visit with Anakin and Rillian.  Instead, Micah waylaid him, pulling Qui-Gon aside for a second short conversation.

“They’re trying to get me to take Yarael’s place on the Reconciliation Council,” Micah said in a low voice.

“He retired from both seats?” Qui-Gon asked, momentarily flabbergasted.  Yarael’s resignation from the High Council had been unexpected enough.

“Apparently, the sly bastard had been considering retirement for some time,” Micah said, with a quick glance at Tahl, who was glaring daggers at both of them for leaving her out of the conversation.  _Healer’s orders,_ Micah explained to Qui-Gon through their pairbond.  _She may be chafing at the utter unfairness of it all, but I am not naysaying Ra’suul after I found my Lifemate unconscious and half dead on the floor._

Qui-Gon caught a swift glimpse of the memory and felt his heart clench.  _I’ll let her yell at me instead of you, then.  She has enough practice at it._   “Are you going to accept?”

“Well, theoretically, a Reconciliation chair has a lot less work attached to it,” Micah said, and then he sobered.  “Qui, Mace doesn’t want you to know, but I fucking well refuse to have you ignorant of this.  Certain members of the High Council already tried to call for a vote against Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath, startled, and then had to fight against a white-hot fury.  “Have they taken leave of their _senses_?” he snarled.  “They didn’t even try the same with Xan, and he assaulted the blasted Temple!”

“And that would be why Mace didn’t want you to know,” Micah said, resting a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.  “Relax.  It didn’t pass, and it’s not going to.  They can’t even gain a majority, thanks to Obi-Wan’s rather brilliant decision to name Shaak Ti as his stand-in.”

That caught his attention.  Shaak Ti had worked directly with the Council already, helping to deal with the aftermath of Jil-Hyra’s manipulation of the creche.  She was held in high esteem by all members of the Council.  “A perfect political neutral,” Qui-Gon said, some of his temper melting away at the pure, unadulterated _sneakiness_ of it.

“Who isn’t actually neutral at all.  Not that others are seeing it yet; Shaak Ti is very good at playing up the fact that she won’t vote in acceptance of an execution order unless the Council is unanimous.”  Micah grinned.  “That’s why I’m leaning towards accepting the Reconciliation chair.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “Stacking the deck?”

“Stacking the fuck out of it,” Micah confirmed.  “Also, take your cat home with you.  I want to spend time with my wife without snorting up feline fur.”

Qui-Gon went back to his quarters.  Teya trotted along behind him for the entire trip, though he still huddled on top of Qui-Gon’s boots for all of the turbolift rides.  “How did you manage to get to the landing platform, if the lifts bother you so much?” 

Teya swished his tail, his ears laid flat to his skull.  It seemed he was willing to cuddle up to Tahl, but not respond to Qui-Gon.

“I’m mad at him, too, you furry idiot,” Qui-Gon said.

Teya didn’t make a sound in response, but his tail stopped its vigorous thumping against Qui-Gon’s boots.

“Is Master Tahl okay?” Anakin asked, meeting Qui-Gon at the door with tea.  It was a bribe that Qui-Gon gratefully accepted.

“She’s fine,” Qui-Gon said, which was…mostly true.  It would certainly remain true, given Tahl’s permanent admission in the Ward.  “I’ve arranged for you and Rillian to both be able to visit her without getting chased off by Healers.”

“That’s good,” Anakin said, and went back to the kitchen.  Qui-Gon smelled what he thought might be dinner underway.  He was doubly appreciative; he was in no mood to try to cook at the moment, no matter his apparent improvement in skill. 

Rillian came out of her room, an unhappy look on her face.  “What is it, Padawan?”

[It still smells funny in here,] she said.  [I know the bio-hazard team would have cleaned the place from top to bottom, but it…I can still smell them.]

“Sith-stink tends to linger,” Anakin called from the kitchen.  “Maybe we should make a special spray, just for that.”

[Sith Be Gone?] Rillian suggested with a wide smile.

Anakin stepped into view, a disbelieving look on his face.  “No more Holonet advertising for you.”

Rillian chuckled; Anakin and Qui-Gon exchanged a quick, furtive glance.  _Well done,_ Qui-Gon sent.

Anakin smiled.  _It was nothing._

[I left your pack on your bed, Master,] Rillian was saying.  [I didn’t know if you wanted to unpack it, but if you don’t, I can—]

“It’s fine, Rillian,” Qui-Gon said, giving her a pleased look.  “I actually do prefer to unload my own detritus at the end of a mission.”

Teya led the way into Qui-Gon’s bedroom, jumping up and landing on the bed with a heavy _thump_.  His pack was waiting on the bed, as Rillian had said. 

“You’ve gained weight,” Qui-Gon told the cat.  Teya narrowed his eyes and nudged Qui-Gon’s pack with his head, causing it to tilt over on its side.  “Yes, I am aware of what my duties are.”

 _“Meff,”_ Teya said, finally deigning to grace Qui-Gon with his odd meow. 

Qui-Gon undid the catches on the bag and then paused, his eyes caught by a flash of color.  Resting on the low table on Obi-Wan’s side of the bed was the latest of Obi-Wan’s leather-bound journals.  Wrapped around the journal in several colorful loops were the blue-green meditation beads that Qui-Gon had gifted him.  One of the strands was inside the book, marking a page.

Ignoring Teya’s aggrieved expression, Qui-Gon picked up the journal, curious.  He had an intense moment of feeling like he was sneaking an illicit peek, but that was ridiculous.  Obi-Wan had long since granted Qui-Gon permission to read the books at any time he liked.

The journal entry was not in Obi-Wan’s typically neat hand, but hurried, written in the rush before their departure:

 

_I am officially not allowed to have spice or phenol.  Not a drop, not a dram.  Abella is spazzing and shedding, certain that I have finally hit my tolerance limit.  It shouldn’t be possible, considering that damned spice windfall on Corellia happened elsewhen, but after taking two hits of phenol in less than a month…perhaps she’s right.  Regardless, I am in no hurry to indulge in either substance._

_Dear universe:  No more spice.  I don’t want to die for that particularly stupid reason.  Let it be for some other stupid reason._

 

Qui-Gon smiled at the passage, despite his worry about the phenol allergy.  Obi-Wan—Venge, he reminded himself—had not mentioned that particular misadventure in the Ward.  Anakin and Rillian had told Qui-Gon of it on the way home.

 

_That’s not the weird part, though.  Seems I have once again managed to babble like an incoherent fool through the delirium of a spice dose.  Anakin memorized the nonsense and told it to me, so the least I can do is write it down here.  I suspect it isn’t perfectly recalled, but the meaning remains:_

_“There is no time, and there is no when._

_There is no will be, and there is no ever was._

_Time is a concept, an abstraction with no linear progression._

_It’s less a series of events and more a mix of everything, and all of it is happening at once.  When we speak of time, remember that it is not a system of measurement, but a matter of being equipped to interpret a single event in the realm of the infinite.”_

 

Qui-Gon found himself staring down at the page until the words blurred together. 

He _remembered_ this.

Granted, he didn’t recall when he’d heard it, or why, but the words resounded so strongly it felt almost like a physical pull.  Where in the worlds had Obi-Wan gotten this?

 

_Anakin said that he’d accused me of writing bad drunken poetry, but I refuted him and said that I was remembering._

_Remembering what?  In my right mind, I have no idea what the hell I was talking about.  If any of this is true, it goes directly against what we currently understand of temporal physics—not that anyone really agrees on what time itself is, anyway.  Trying to include time in mathematics usually breaks everything, including hyperspace travel._

_Dammit.  No time to ponder this further._

_Qui-Gon, I had better find you in one piece. ~~If she’s hurt you, I may well just kill that woman.~~_   _Meditate on the transport, you sodden excuse for a Jedi Master._

 

Teya’s claws embedding themselves in his skin broke Qui-Gon from his reverie.  “Ouch!  Dammit,” he swore, pulling his arm away.  Teya looked up at him with an innocent feline stare that didn’t fool him at all. 

“I get the point.  One problem at a time,” Qui-Gon said, and turned his attention back to his travel pack.  He could ponder cryptic words and attend to his duties at the same time.

 

*          *          *          *

 

His comm awoke him some time after midnight.  Qui-Gon rolled over and glowered at the offending device, reflecting back warm light from the row of candles he’d left lit.  Alone in this room, he had found the complete darkness to be unwelcome.  

Qui-Gon had connected the comm back into the Temple system, which meant it could be anyone, calling him from anywhere in the galaxy.  It chimed again, insistent, representative of goading responsibility. 

Qui-Gon sighed, reached out, and thumbed it on.  “Jinn.”

“Hello.”

Qui-Gon stared at the comm, shocked into speechlessness.  For some reason, this was the voice he’d least expected to hear.

“I—” 

Qui-Gon could almost feel the cracking hesitation; he was letting the silence go on too long.  “I didn’t think I would be hearing from you,” he said hurriedly. 

Venge sounded perplexed when he spoke again.  “Why would you not?”

“There is some evidence to be found in the manner of your parting,” Qui-Gon said, sitting up in bed, the sheet pooling around his hips.

A sigh.  “Qui-Gon Jinn, not wishing to hurt you is _not_ the same as not wishing to speak to you.  Unless…you do not want me to—”

“Not that,” Qui-Gon interrupted, and then rested the active comm against his forehead.  If Obi-Wan’s insides had turned shock-cold and painful the way his own had at those words…

He lowered the comm.  “I do want to hear from you.  I was just concerned that I wouldn’t.”

Venge chuckled.  Qui-Gon’s eyes widened.  It was the first time he’d heard the Sith laugh.  “Listen to us.  We sound like a pair of addle-brained fools.”

“Perhaps we do,” Qui-Gon allowed, feeling a small, answering smile on his face.  “I miss you.”

“I miss you, also,” Venge said, his tone turning melancholy.  “And I fear I will be missing you for a long time yet.”

That did not sound good.  “Obi-Wan?”

“Four months, Qui.  _Four fucking months._ ”

“Oh,” Qui-Gon whispered.  He didn’t need to ask about what Venge was referring to.

“You see?  Of course I am going to speak to you.  I could not just—I cannot even comprehend not speaking to you for all of that time,” Venge said, sounding distressed.  “I would sooner remove my own skin.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Qui-Gon said in alarm.  “I prefer your skin where it is.”

“Right.  Fuck.  No one mentioned anything about horrific mood swings and depression being a part of this,” Venge said, aggrieved.  “Or perhaps it is the sedative.”

“Sedative?” Qui-Gon asked, concerned.

“I cannot sleep.  I cannot rest, I— _fuck!_ ” Venge shouted, and then the comm half-muted.  Qui-Gon heard a horrific, metallic shriek, and several distant, disturbing thuds that made his blood run cold.

 _Dear gods, Obi-Wan_. 

Qui-Gon could only wait, and hope that the fit passed.  He did not even want to contemplate what would happen if Fire overtook his Lifemate’s mind.

He could tell when Venge picked up the comm from the sharp inhalations of someone deeply winded.  “Obi-Wan?”

“You did not drop the signal.”  Venge sounded surprised, wary, and grateful, all at once.

“Of course not.  Are you all right?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I transfigured the wall,” Venge said.

Transfigured the— “Into _what?_ ” Qui-Gon wanted to know, nonplussed.

“Nothing in particular.  Calling it abstract might be doing it a kindness,” Venge replied, and then sighed heavily.  “I am sorry.  Forgive me?”

“I think the wall would be better served by an apology,” Qui-Gon started to say, but Venge cut him off.

“Not the wall.  All of it.  All of this,” Venge said.  “I have not fucked up this badly in a long, long time.  My own foolishness helped lead to this moment.  Forgive me, please.”

The raw plea made Qui-Gon’s heart ache.  “On two conditions,” he said.

“Name them.”

“If you need me, you blasted, fucking well _call me_.  I don’t care what time it is, you call me, wherever I may be.  Also, if it gets to be too much, if you need to see me, I will come to you.  No protests,” Qui-Gon insisted harshly, when Venge tried to do just that.  “I can spend a day in your company and not expire, Obi-Wan.”

There was a long pause.  “Was that the two conditions, or just an overly complicated single condition?”

Qui-Gon smiled.  Better.  “The second condition is that you come home when this is over.  I don’t care if you feel or look like death warmed over.  You will come straight back to me.”

“You are bossy.”  Another pause.  “Your terms are reasonable.  I will contact you, I will ask for your presence if I need it, and I will come home when it is done.  I promise.  Thankfully, you did not specify which home.”

 _Dammit._   “I take it you know of the Council’s vote.”

“I do.”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Qui-Gon said.

“I am realistic,” Venge replied.  “I expected worse.”

 _Ah._   If Venge’s forced presence had happened with no warning, without the Sharing...Qui-Gon shuddered to think on how badly things could have gone.  “How did Mace and Boda handle things?”

“I was worried that MonMassa was going to give in and try to stab me in the face with her lightsaber,” Venge said, amused.  “Mace, less so.  He has better control over his anger than most beings give him credit for.”

“That he does,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “The others will see sense, eventually.”

“Undoubtedly.  I—oh.”  Venge said something else, most likely a curse, considering the guttural nature of it.

“What?”  Qui-Gon asked, curious.

“I am, apparently, bleeding.  The wall had its vengeance, after all.  I need to go and deal with this,” Venge said in resignation.  “I will speak to you later.  Tomorrow, perhaps; I just realized it must be the middle of the night where you are.”

“All right.”  Qui-Gon hesitated, not yet willing to give up even this modicum of contact.  “I love you.”

The initial silence was resoundingly loud.  “I…this should not be so hard to say.”

“Good things are typically also hard things,” Qui-Gon said.

Venge made a sputtered sound that was almost a laugh.  “Was that a penis joke?”

Qui-Gon grinned as he realized the unintentional innuendo.  “That wasn’t what I had in mind, but if it suits…”

“I do love you,” Venge said quietly.  “I am not very good at speaking of it, but do not doubt that it is true.”

“I don’t doubt it at all.  Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“One day, I will convince you to call me by my name,” Venge said, startling Qui-Gon once more.  He terminated the call before Qui-Gon could even contemplate a response.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“No more sedatives,” Venge said.

Abella managed not to squeak, this time, but her heart still wound up in her throat.  “You ass!” she sputtered, and then she smelled the blood.  “What did you do to yourself _now?_ ”

Venge regarded her with a narrow-eyed look.  His left hand was holding a wad of red-stained cloth against the top of his right hand.  The cloth was saturated with enough blood that it was on the verge of dripping all over the floor of her new quarters. 

“Right,” she muttered, resolving to lock her door from now on.  “Off to medical.  I’m not bandaging you up in here.  The blood would never come out of this carpet.”

He followed along behind her, his steps almost inaudible even to Abella’s sensitive ears.  In the medical suite, she removed the wad of cloth and shook her head at the revealed mess.  “What did you do?”

“I may have punched a wall.”

Abella stared at him.  “More than once, to have done this,” she said, and set to work on healing the wound—only to have Venge hiss and jerk his hand out of her grasp.

“I can’t heal if you don’t let me touch you,” Abella said, allowing exasperation to color her sudden fear.  There was something very feral about her friend in that moment, exacerbated by the protective way he was cradling his hand to his chest.  She was a claw-bearing carnivore; like recognized like.

“What happened?” she asked in a softer voice.

Venge made an irritated noise and held out his hand again.  His arm was steady, and he didn’t flinch away as she turned her attention back to the wound.  “It did not feel like I expected it to,” he said.

“Oh?”  He’d managed to fracture three of his metacarpals.  Abella wondered how the wall had fared.

“It was warm.  It surprised me.”

Abella paused, glancing up at him.  Venge seemed tired and overstressed, if you could look beyond the odd glow of his eyes.  “Tell me why you don’t want the sedatives.”

“I felt…unbalanced,” Venge said.  “This is no time for me to be taking anything that might contribute to that feeling.”

“Huh.”  Abella thought about it, repairing bone and muscle with her typical expediency.  She’d gotten a lot of practice at speed-healing human tissue, thanks to Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon’s constant forays into trouble over the years.  “Well, if that one had a bad interaction with Fire, we’ll have to try something else.”

“Abella,” he growled, low and threatening.  Honestly, it wasn’t much different than dealing with Obi-Wan in a sour mood.

“You can’t _not_ sleep,” Abella snapped at him, cleaning his hand when the healing was done.  “We’ll try again tomorrow night.”

“Very well,” Venge conceded, rubbing his left thumb over the new skin.  He walked away, leaving Abella with a mess to clean up.  She was just starting to wipe down her work table when she heard a very quiet, “Thank you,” but when Abella turned around, the medical suite was empty.


End file.
